


Playing in Paris

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, XReader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1306348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight rewrite of a France x Reader oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing in Paris

You fold your hands on your lap and stare at the glass-topped coffee table in front of you. Your pleated skirt was short enough for you to feel the soft cream-colored cushions on your bare legs. You could feel the small metal loop from your garter belt against your thigh, although it was no longer cold. A fresh breeze fans out the thin white curtains in front of the open balcony doors. It had rained in the night, although now the clouds were gone and the sun shone with the cheerful brightness of mid-morning. The wind ushered in the overbold smell of rain and earth, refreshing your senses. You throw a short glance at the blond-haired man sitting across from you. He appears to be in deep thought, looking deliberately away from you and out at the city of Paris. He has a wine glass to his lips, but isn't tilted enough for the bright red liquid to even near his lips.  
His sky-blue eyes are half-lidded in heavy thought, and his lips are parted slighly around the rim of the wine glass. His wavy blond hair reaches nearly to his shoulders, flowing like golden water.   
"Ah...Monsieur Bonnefoy." He turns to look at you, lowering the wine glass and giving you a small, kind smile.   
"Call me Francis, mon amour." He says, his eyes sparkling with kind affection. You smile a little, and sit up, puffing out your chest slightly. You slip your hand under the collar of your dress shirt, placing your thumb and forefinger on your collarbone, pushing the collar apart a bit.  
"Of course, Francis." His eyes follow the movement of your hand, and he stares at your chest. You unbutton a few of the top buttons and pull the shirt open a bit, then fold your legs and throw back your shoulders. His hungry blue eyes flicker upwards to meet yours, and you smirk slightly. You unfold your legs and place your knees on the edge of the coffee table, leaning your weight onto it. It does not budge, so you move your knees onto the glass sheen and kneel on the tabletop. You spread your legs slightly, just enough to show the insides of your thighs.   
Francis had looked down again, at your legs, and you allow him to stare for a moment before pushing your skirt down slowly. You push your breasts together with your shoulders and lean forward, arching your back inwards. Francis' eyes follow your arms up to your chest, and linger there. You bring one hand up and undo another one of the buttons of your dress shirt, then lean in closer to Francis, inviting him to finish.  
He does so, slowly setting down the wine glass on the side table and bringing his hands up. He maintains eye contact with you, his bright eyes lustful. After he finishes with the last button, you slide the shirt off your shoulders and toss it aside. Francis' hands hover over your black bra, but you raise one finger, as if scolding him.   
"Ah, ah. You can only look."  
"You are a masterpiece, madamoiselle." He gushed.  
"They say you cannot touch the masterpieces in the museum." You say delicately. You shy back a bit, spreading your legs apart, but pushing your skirt down. Francis follows your hands with his eyes, looking vaguely frustrated when you pushed down your skirt.  
"I want to see more," He says, refusing to look away from your hands.   
"You will, il mio amore." You watch him for a moment, admiring the Frenchman. "Sei molto bello, monseiur." His eyes flickered up to yours.   
"You know well what I like, mon amour."  
"Not well enough. Tell me what you want, Francis."  
"Hurry, madamoiselle, hurry."  
You smile and move your hands behind your back, unhooking your bra. You slide it off and cover your chest quickly before discarding the garment. Francis leans forward slightly, his breathing increasing notably and the hungry look in his eyes becoming more lustful.  
"Stai bene? Are you alright?"  
"I am in your presence, madamoiselle."  
"So surely you are not." You laugh lightly. "I worry for your health, Francis."  
"They say making love is a very healthy activity."  
"That is true, si."  
You cross your arms over your chest, slowly pressing your breasts together. He watches you anxiously, and begins panting audibly. You rise onto your knees, sliding down your skirt and undergarments, leaving the garter belt. You move forward, sitting back on the glass table and placing your heels on the cream colored couch on either side of Francis' lap. You move forward as he slips your skirt off your legs. A cool breeze tugs lightly on your hair as you lean in and stroke the side of his face.   
"What is it that you wanted to do to me, Francis?" He looks into your eyes, his full of lust and affection.   
"Ooh, madamoiselle. There are many things I would like to do, but I am not to touch the masterpieces." You laugh gently and move your knees onto the couch so you are nearly sitting on his lap. You place your hands lightly on his chest.   
"Ora si può toccare."

**Author's Note:**

> Mon amour – my love (French)  
> Sei molto bello- You are very handsome (Italian)  
> Stai bene- Are you alright (Italian)  
> -Ora si può toccare- Now you can touch (Italian)  
> il mio amore – my love (Italian)


End file.
